


I Ain't Nothing Nice

by annie_reckson



Series: fight me. [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Enemies to Lovers, M/M, Rimming, Trans!Stiles, bottom!Jackson, fighter!AU, light teasing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-22
Updated: 2016-04-22
Packaged: 2018-06-03 19:32:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,108
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6623404
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/annie_reckson/pseuds/annie_reckson
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jackson's never been good a taking responsibility for his actions. And he's especially never been good at listening to reason. </p>
<p>Good thing Stiles is just as stubborn as he is.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Ain't Nothing Nice

All the muscles in his chest are starting to burn.

_ The announcer calls out his name and it sounds shrill and tinny, the consonants too hard and the vowels virtually nonexistent. Lydia isn’t there to follow him out this time, not for actual matches. She’s only able to give him a peck on the cheek and squeeze to the bicep before sending him out into the mass hysteria. _

His sneakers pound the pavement rhythmically, loud enough to drown out the fast-paced music flowing through his earbuds.

_ Then he watches, trying not to stare, as Stiles walks down from the opposite side. His name sounds beautiful and lyrical, like the beginning of a song Jackson didn’t realize he needed to hear. If possible, the shouts of the crowd grow somehow louder. Although that could just be his imagination. _

He’s about to make his eighth lap around his neighborhood, nearly twice as many as usual.

_ At the hollow clang of the bell, they start circling each other and Jackson’s eyes scan Stiles’s body, looking for any slight muscle twinge that will give away his next move. After a few seconds of intense scrutiny, Stiles lunges at him, locking their arms together and bringing their faces close enough that Jackson can feel his breath on his cheek. _

The street is thankfully empty, save for parked cars and the occasional person walking their dog. They don’t pay any attention to him.

_ Jackson is able to break the hold and connect a punch to Stiles’s sternum as he pushes him away. From there, it’s a flurry of punches, blocks, and kicks, Stiles putting his long limbs to good use, just the way Danny had warned him. Still, Jackson is more than able to hold his own against the onslaught. The crowd is loving them. _

He’s halfway home when his legs start to feel like jelly. He’s not sure he can make another lap. He’s not sure he can stop.

_ But then it happens. Stiles steps away from him for a split second to whip the hair out of his face and Jackson loses himself in his huge, dark eyes. It’s just a second, but it’s a second too long. He falters, letting his guard down, and Stiles lands a solid punch square to his gut, knocking him to his knees. Then, Stiles squats to loop an arm around his neck and tightens. Jackson swings his arms, trying to punch his way out of it, but before he can land anything, Stiles pulls them backwards until he’s flat on the mat, wrapping his legs around Jackson’s prone body and applying force to his hips. The strain is excruciating. Somewhere, far away from his consciousness, Jackson hears the ref shouting and the bell clanging to signal the end of the match. _

His pace stutters for a second and he has to correct himself to avoid losing his balance. When his house comes into view for the ninth time, Jackson nearly keeps going. Nearly punishes himself for one more lap. But there’s a car in his driveway, one he doesn’t recognize. And a figure standing on his porch, hand in their pockets, obviously waiting for him.

Jackson is halfway up his driveway before he recognizes the person framed in the bright light of his front porch. The figure is unmistakable, a lithe form that’s impossibly lanky. Jackson nearly turns around and leaves, but the person lifts their head and sees him.

“Jackson,” Stiles exhales out, hurrying down the steps to meet him.

The way he’s dressed, it looks like Stiles deliberately wants to ruin Jackson’s night by reminding him of what he isn’t allowed to have. The khakis he’s wearing are too tight to actually be comfortable, and his button-down is doing wonders accentuating his broad shoulders. It takes Jackson a second to remember that he’s upset.

“What do you want,” Jackson snarls out, brusquely pushing past him.

“Please just...can we talk?”

“Why,” Jackson dips his fingers into a small, hidden pocket in his running shorts for his door key.

“Because I...” Stiles pauses, running a hand over his face, “Look, I noticed that you weren’t at the after-party Scott and I threw tonig-”

“Why the fuck would I be there,” Jackson opens the door and goes to move inside.

“Danny was there, Lydia was there. I just thought, I...”

Jackson winces and hopes Stiles doesn’t notice, “Yeah, well, I hope they have a good time tonight, they deserve to,” He stops when Stiles moves to follow him inside, “I don’t remember inviting you in.”

Stiles grunts, “Are you really going to do this Jackson? I know what you’re thinking and you’re wrong. You, in fact, couldn’t be more wrong. Trust me. Or, don’t trust me. Just...please talk to me.”

“What is there to talk about? You won. It’s over. Go celebrate your win. Think of all the celebratory shots you’re missing out on right now.”

“Look, I obviously don’t care about any of that, alright? Will you...please let me in?”

Jackson huffs, but sets his jaw and steps back to allow Stiles to walk in past him. He’s drenched with sweat, and starting to be annoyed by it, so he whips his gross tank off and throws it in the basket by the entryway. The cool air is an instant relief against his burning skin.

“Want a beer?” Jackson offers, as he makes his way into the kitchen to grab one for himself.

“Uh, yeah. Sure. Thanks,” Stiles is absently looking over Jackson’s sparsely-furnished home.

“Cool,” He opens both bottles and takes a big swig from his own before offering one to Stiles, “So, you wanted to talk.”

They convene at the marble countertop in Jackson’s kitchen, Jackson leaning against it and Stiles sitting on one of the stools under the breakfast bar. The cool stone feels amazing, but it does very little for his temperament.

“I just, look, I feel like you got the wrong impression about what happened today, and I don’t want that.”

“Wrong impression? What on earth could you be talking about?” Jackson cuts Stiles off as soon as he opens his mouth to respond, “Oh did you mean you succeeding in throwing off my concentration so you could win tonight?”

“That wasn’t my-”

“That’s bullshit,” Jackson crinkles his nose as he takes another sip of beer, “Look, ‘dude’, I’d respect you more if you just owned up to it. You don’t have to play innocent or coy anymore, Stiles. You won. Your winning streak continues. Congratulations. Why not let us both get on with our lives, hmm?”

“Look, Jackson,” Stiles narrows his eyes, “I know it might be better for your ego for you to believe that I somehow tricked you into losing, but you’re doing us both a disservice by pretending like I didn’t beat you because I was better than you.”

“You. Think you’re better. Than me,” Jackson snarls out.

Stiles puts his hands up, “Whoa, slow down, okay? No one is questioning that you are an amazing fighter, okay? You are beyond talented. But that’s doesn’t make you inhuman and it doesn’t make you infallible. I was better than you today, but maybe you’ll be better than me next time, whatever, it doesn’t matter,” Stiles huffs and runs a hand down his face, “What I’m trying to say is that the outcome of our match wasn’t determined by the feelings we have for each other.”

Jackson widens his eyes and tips the beer up for a drink as he walks away. Before he can escape, Stile grabs onto his forearm. It’s not that he couldn’t easily break out of Stiles’s grasp, it’s just that Stiles is giving him such a needy look that Jackson doesn’t want to try.

“When I first found out about our match, I was ecstatic. For honesty’s sake, and believe me when I say that I am being 100% honest right now, I might have had a little crush on you, that I’ve been nursing for a little while. That’s why I did the kiss at the weigh-in,” Stiles loosens his grip so he can trace lines up and down Jackson’s arm, “Because I  _ wanted _ to kiss you. There’s really no other reason besides that.”

“Why should I believe you?” Jackson purses his lips, but still doesn’t pull his arm away.

“Because,” Stiles locks eyes with him, “You felt something when we kissed, the second time, I know it. And I,” He pauses to hiss between his teeth before rushing out the next words, “I can’t let you believe that I didn’t feel the same way. That I don’t still feel the same way. When I was at my own house party, all I could think about was how I would much rather be spending time with you. Doing anything.

“This is where I want to be, wherever you are. And I know how awfully cliche that sounds but I mean it. And I don’t know what I have to do to make you believe it, but I will climb to the top of your fucking house if I have to and shout it until your neighbors call the police.”

Overcome, Jackson feels like he’s standing under a waterfall, the way all the anger and embarrassment that had clouded him before seems to wash away. Instead, he just feels vulnerable - especially considering he’s nearly naked standing in his own kitchen - and oddly hopeful. The latter emotion is so alien to him that he’s barely able to recognize it for what it is.

“Look,” Stiles sighs and continues, “I didn’t come here to make you uncomfortable and I...think...I’ve said what I need to say. I just need you to believe me and to say you believe me becau-”

Jackson shuts him up by pressing their mouths together. Words and sentences and phrases and monologues all trip him up. Expressing himself sarcastically and arrogantly is easy, he can hide behind that anytime he wants to, but trying to tell someone that he  _ does  _ like them, he  _ likes _ kissing them, he  _ wants _ to believe them, is a lot harder. He’s always been better at showing his emotions physically.

Thankfully, despite his initial surprise, Stiles joins in quickly, haphazardly clamboring off the bar stool so he can gets his hands on Jackson’s naked waist, his nails digging into the sweaty skin. Jackson mimics his movements, looping his fingers through the belt loops on Stiles’s khakis so he can tug him closer. Stiles’s tongue dips inside his mouth for a second, but Jackson nips it gently, then smashes their lips together harder, enjoying the rough glide of their soft lips against the other.

This time, there isn’t an audience and Jackson feels more uninhibited than before, now that he doesn’t have to worry about anyone interrupting them. He breaks their kiss to drag his mouth along Stiles’s jawline and down his neck, letting his tongue mark Stiles’s pale throat shiny with his saliva. Whenever he comes across one of the many moles dotting Stiles’s long neck, he bites down gently, relishing the moans that escape.

Jackson moves his hands up to start unbuttoning Stiles’s shirt, then pulls back, “Is this okay?”

Stiles nods furiously, “Are you kidding me? This is more than okay. I considered this the best possible scenario when I decided to come over tonight.”

“What was the worst?” Jackson smirks as he continues removing Stiles’s shirt, more than elated when he sees that he’s wearing nothing underneath the thin cotton.

“Honestly, you punching me in the face.”

Jackson pauses, his thumbs rubbing against Stiles’s sternum, “I wouldn’t do that.”

Stiles’s hands are on his shoulders, “I didn’t know.”

“Okay but,” Jackson shakes his head, “I know I have a reputation for being an asshole and I’ve worked hard to cultivate that reputation but,” He moves to briefly kiss Stiles’s cheek, jaw, and right below his ear before resting his forehead on his shoulder, “I wouldn’t do  _ that _ , that’s not the type of person I am.”

“Yeah,” Stiles shifts to wrap his arms around Jackson and pull him closer, “I know. Now, I know.”

“Good,” Jackson moves his head back up and shifts so he can kiss Stiles again, because he finds that he really enjoys that.

This time, Stiles’s long, deft fingers move swiftly to finish unbuttoning the last few buttons left and he tugs his own shirt off, tossing it on the floor and immediately moving back into Jackson’s space. His hands cradle Jackson’s face, pulling them impossibly closer. Surprisingly, Jackson allows himself to be manhandled, letting Stiles take control of their embrace.

A soft gasp escapes from Jackson’s lips when Stiles slides his thigh in between Jackson’s and pushes against him, the soft fabric of Jackson’s shorts gliding against his dick, which is suddenly aching for better stimulation. He’s really not sure how much longer his tiny running shorts are going to be able to contain him.

He pulls back, smiling when Stiles tries to chase him, “We could take this somewhere more comfortable,” He licks his lips, “I have a very expensive, very plush bed.”

Stiles chuckles, “What’s the thread count?”

“It’s 1000-count, Egyptian cotton.”

“Fuuuuuuck,” Stiles groans, “That sounds very nice,” He sucks his bottom lip in and pops it out, “You wanna show the way?”

Jackson’s fingers play along the top of Stiles’s khakis, “You’re certain you want to, that this is okay?”

Stiles rolls his eyes, “Yeah dude, remember? Best case scenario.”

Softly, Jackson wraps his hand around Stiles’s back and tugs him forward until their faces are hovering inches from the other. Instead of making contact, he maintains the distance so he can keep his eyes on Stiles’s face while he walks backward down the hall and into his bedroom. It makes him notice that Stiles is just a hair taller than him, enough that they’re not exactly eye-to-eye. Stiles smiles at him and returns the gaze, taking in Jackson’s flushed features..

Once they pass the doorway into his bedroom, Jackson unfastens Stiles’s khakis, shoving them down his legs and and discarding them on the floor. His own shorts follow suit quickly after and he steps out of them, kicking them away. He guides Stiles’s hands back to his sides, encouraging him to take hold.

Stiles licks his lips, “So there’s probably something you should know, umm...before we take this any further.”

“Yeah?” Jackson quirks an eyebrow.

“I uhhh....I...pack,” Stiles narrows his eyes.

“Well...yeah, I kinda assumed that. Is that it?”

“...What do you mean?”

Jackson smirks, “I mean, it seemed obvious.”

“Oh. Huh. Most people don’t really...”

“And now you know the benefit of keeping your private life private,” Jackson rolls his eyes, “Look, Danny has been my best friend since probably middle school. When he came out in the beginning of ninth grade, I spent the first eight weeks of school in detention because I kept getting into fights with people who tried to tease him or pick on him.”

Stiles whistles through his teeth, “Whoa, really? You and Scott would probably have a lot to talk about.”

“Probably,” Jackson reaches up to trace Stiles’s bottom lip with his thumb, “But right now I’m not standing naked with Scott in my bedroom.”

“Good thing,” Stiles’s tongue whips out briefly to lick his skin, “I think I’d be a little jealous.”

“Anyways, Danny and I pretty much came of age together. And he encouraged me to be  _ very _ experimental, especially once I finally became sexually active. So really, I guess the only question I have for you is, do you just pack,” Jackson grins and reaches down to cup the obvious bulge in Stiles’s briefs, “Or do you pack and play?”

A whiny noise escapes from Stiles’s throat, “Have I mentioned the whole ‘best case scenario’ thing enough, yet?” He chokes out.

Jackson presses himself against Stiles’s body, dragging his nails down his sides, and whispers in his ear, “So I’m guessing you’d like to fuck me with it?”

“Shit,” Stiles gasps, “Umm...fuck yes. That’s pretty much the best of the best ca-”

Jackson pulls back to look him dead in the eye, “Let’s get something straight. If the words ‘best case scenario’ leave your mouth again, you’re leaving my house.”

“Whoa, hey! Who was going to say that exact string of words, certainly not this guy?”

“Uh huh,” Jackson reaches out to splay his fingers across Stiles’s chest, “So what are you going to do, then?”

Jackson watches as Stiles seems to stretch up to his full height, squaring his shoulders and grinning. He boxes Jackson in with his arms, his fingers splayed across the muscles of his shoulders and digging in like a brand. With a smirk, he starts nudging Jackson backwards.

“Well, I thought I could start by getting you onto this ‘very expensive, very plush’ bed that I was told about,” He chuckles when Jackson falls back onto the comforter, bouncing a bit, “Then,” Stiles crawls over him, his limbs impossibly long, “I was planning on taking my time opening you up for me, until you’re pretty much begging for it, until I get to see how flushed all this pretty tanned skin can get.”

“Oh yeah,” Jackson’s lips part, “Is that right?”

“That’s just the start,” Stiles winks and lowers his head to press their lips together, kissing him with intent.

Jackson runs his fingers up Stiles’s taut arms and settles them spread across his back, trying to pull him closer. Stiles moans and drags their noses together before breaking away and ducking his head to focus his attention on the soft skin of Jackson’s neck. He knows he’s still pretty sweaty, and he’s about to apologize when Stiles drags his tongue up from his collarbone to the bottom of his chin, but the satisfied groan that escapes Stiles’s mouth is enough to shut him up.

After that, Stiles shifts his focus to Jackson’s puffy, pink nipples, sucking the right one into his mouth while his fingers tug and smooth the left one. At the slightest bit of stimulation, Jackson gasps and bows off the bed, which only encourages Stiles to suck harder. By the time Stiles releases the right one, Jackson is pretty sure he could cut glass with it, not that he really has time to think before Stiles’s tongue is all over the left one.

Apparently satisfied with how close to wrecked Jackson already is, Stiles lowers his hand until he can wrap it just around the base of Jackson’s cock and squeeze. Jackson jerks, thrusting his hips in aborted searches for further stimulation. His eyes are squeezed shut, with one arm thrown over them, but he can still feel the smirk on Stiles’s face right before he repositions himself over Jackson’s heaving body to bring him closer to Jackson’s dick.

Stiles presses his tongue against the soft head, with just enough pressure to leave Jackson wanting more. He doesn’t quite have Jackson’s dick in his mouth, just his tongue working around the very tip and licking away the precum that’s leaking out. Jackson’s biting his bottom lip so hard he’s long stop worried about breaking the skin. When he opens his eyes, he immediately regrets it, because Stiles is looking right at him.

In fact, once Stiles can see Jackson meeting his gaze, it seems to only encourage him to tease Jackson further. His fingers still are loosely wrapped around the base, just barely giving Jackson the friction he needs, and he’s running his tongue up and down just slightly against the vein the runs on the underside of his cock. It’s not nearly enough and yet somehow Jackson feels like he could come any second.

It only gets worse once Stiles finally takes him into his mouth, hollowing his cheeks and sucking like he’s trying to kill him. Jackson can barely control the short little movements that his hips are making, and he’s not sure how he reached this point, but there’s a tingling in his gut that lets him know that he’s dangerously close to releasing.

“Hey, hey,” Jackson drags his fingers through Stiles’s hair to get his attention, “I’d really prefer to come when you’re inside me, and if you keep doing that...”

Stiles pulls off and wipes his mouth, “Sorry, I guess I got a little carried away.”

“Honestly, not complaining at all, just uhh...” Jackson finds himself staring at  Stiles’s red, swollen, debauched lips for just a second longer, “Umm... everything you need should be in the nightstand drawer,” He gestures loosely, limbs feeling almost useless.

“Cool, yeah, no worries, I’m on it,” Stiles clambers back up the bed and reaches over Jackson, his lean torso right above his head.

Jackson seizes the opportunity and reaches up to bite at the pale skin right below the bright pink scars and keens at the gasp that gets punched out of the man above him. He runs his tongue over the mark and presses his lips over it in an attempt to soothe it. Stiles already has his eyebrow cocked when he leans back to look Jackson in the eye.

“Did  _ not _ think you’d be a biter. I am pleasantly surprised and extremely aroused.”

Jackson runs his thumb over the slick bitemark, “I guess that makes two of us then.”

“Fuck,” Stiles whines and presses their lips together again, fiercely moving their mouths together and letting his teeth drag against Jackson’s lips more often than not, when he pulls back, it’s with definite hesitation, “Quit distracting me!” Stiles sits and and wiggles the bottle of lube in his hand, “I’ve got a job to do.”

Jackson spreads his legs as if on command, “Well then I guess you better get started.”

Stiles mumbles something under his breath that sounds suspiciously like ‘menace’ before finally shifting down the bed until he’s between Jackson’s legs. With a pop, he uncaps the lube and spreads it liberally on his hand. He places his free hand on Jackson’s hip in a soothing but firm gesture before moving the other one between his legs.

The feeling is always colder than he expects, but it warms up easily, especially with the way Stiles is slowly circling his hole with just enough pressure that it’s not long before his finger easily slips in. Jackson lets his mouth hang open as he feels Stiles’s long finger slide in and out of him. The burn when the second finger slides in is there, but not as noticeable as Jackson remembers, and made even better when Stiles manages to brush across his prostate. After a few minutes, Jackson feels relaxed enough that his eyes start to flutter shut.

He nearly whines when Stiles pulls his fingers out, but he snaps to attention when Stiles’s hands move his legs up until he’s nearly bent in half, exposing his hole completely. Not that he’s exposed for long though, because Stiles’s lips and teeth and tongue are covering his entrance almost immediately, mixing lube and spit together. Jackson grabs onto his legs to spread them wider, giving Stiles more access. He tries in vain to thrust upwards when Stiles’s tongue slips inside him and nearly cries out when Stiles’s teeth start to nibble around his rim.

It’s bittersweet when Stiles’s moves away and bites him gently on his asscheek, and Jackson doesn’t think he’s ever been harder in his entire life. There’s a moment when Stiles steps away, presumably to finally remove his boxer briefs, and Jackson hates that he can’t see him. When he comes back into view, his hair is perfectly rumpled and there’s a condom packet between his teeth.

Stiles smirks as he rips it open, “Is it okay if we do it like this?”

Jackson looks down, realizes that he’s still gripping his thighs wide, and nods, “Yeah, yeah this is good.”

He watches as Stiles nods, rolls the condom on, and pours more lube in his hand. After a second, he hovers over Jackson and, while maintaining eye contact, guides himself into Jackson’s opening. They both stay there for a moment, eyes wide and mouths gaping, while Jackson adjusts to the feeling of being filled. He can feel what he assumes is part of the harness scraping against his upper thighs, but he ignores it in favor of the much better sensations happening inside of him.

When the stretch starts to feel better, Jackson gives Stiles the nod to start moving. Before he begins, Stiles pries Jackson’s hands off his legs and places them above his head, linking their fingers together. Then, he starts driving into Jackson over and over, shaking the bed beneath them and making Jackson glad that he doesn’t live in an apartment.

Jackson digs his heels into Stiles’s back, encouraging him to go harder and Stiles just smiles and shakes his head before thrusting so hard Jackson feels like he might have been split open. He only does that a couple of times, though, before releasing one of Jackson’s hands and sliding his own down until it’s cupping Jackson’s hip. Slowly, he sets them into a curving rhythm that feels like he’s driving into Jackson’s soul.

“Fuck, Stiles, that seriously feels amazing,” Jackson moans out, before moving his arms to  grip onto Stiles’s back for dear life.

Stiles takes the opportunity to flip them over, laughing at the surprised look on Jackson’s face when he finds himself on top. When he sits up, he feels the full length of Stiles pressing inside of him and it makes him want to sink down impossibly lower. Long fingers stretch across his chest as Stiles unashamedly explores his body.

“Sorry,” Stiles smirks, “I just really wanted to be able to see you.”

Jackson tries to hide the blush that consumes his face, “I guess I can’t say I blame you,” He moves his hands to brace them on Stiles’s abdomen, then starts lifting his hips slowly into the air and bringing them down.

“You wanna tell me some more about how good this feels?” Stiles reaches out to gently take hold of Jackson’s cock, which is bobbing helplessly as he moves.

Jackson throws his head back, “You feel fucking fantastic inside of me,” He shifts his hips so that Stiles’s cock drags against him just the right way as he slides back down, making a shudder run through him, “Yeah, pretty much fucking perfect.”

“You know,” Stiles’s hand tightens around Jackson’s dick, “I have more, different ones.”

“Really?” Jackson sighs out.

“Oh yeah,” Stiles starts to stroke him with more pressure, “Longer ones, thicker ones, even ones that vibrate.”

“Fuck” Barely escapes Jackson’s lips as he feels himself getting close, his movements becoming more erratic.

“And I would love to use them all on you.”

Between Stiles’s words and the tugging on his dick, it takes little more to send Jackson over the edge. Shudders run through him over and over again as he marks all across Stiles’s chest. He slumps a little as his hands slide off of Stiles’s body and onto the bed.

As he starts to come back to himself, he feels the rabbit-quick thrusts of Stiles losing it beneath him and his eyes flutter open just in time to catch Stiles’s eyes squeezing shut as his head tips back. Multiple, aborted moans escape his lips while Jackson watches, unable to stop himself from mouthing at the sweat pooling at the base of Stiles’s throat.

Stiles’s arms roam up to hold him there while their breathing returns to normal. Jackson nuzzles against his soft skin and realizes that he doesn’t necessarily mind the fact that Stiles hasn’t pulled out of him completely yet. There’s something about the last few inches of him just teasing around Jackson’s rim that he likes a lot more than he feels he should.

It’s only when he starts to feel his own come cooling that he realizes he should probably do something. He reluctantly pulls away from Stiles’s embrace and shifts to free himself and get off the bed, feeling the emptiness immediately and regretting it. Stiles gives him a pouty look, but still looks like he feels too limp to really do anything about it.

While he’s wetting a washcloth, Jackson takes a look at himself in the mirror and, for the first time in awhile, likes what he sees. His hair is an absolute mess, there’s stubble burn all around his chest and neck, not to mention how very red his lips and nipples are. He looks thoroughly debauched, and he’s never felt so happy about it.

When he returns, Stiles is still laying on the bed, looking completely spent with his legs splayed apart and one arm tucked behind his head. He’s readjusted his piece, so it’s back to laying against his thigh. Jackson takes a moment to appreciate the view before walking over and wiping Stiles’s chest clean. Before he’s even finished, Stiles’s takes the washcloth away from him and tosses it to the side before  tugging at Jackson to lay in the bed with him.

Jackson rolls his eyes but complies, wrapping his arm around Stiles’s torso, “You still okay?”

“Buddy,” Stiles rests his cheek against Jackson’s hair, “I don’t think I’ve ever been more okay in my life.”

“Well I, for one, am fucking freezing. Mind if we do this under the comforter?”

“What kind of comforter is it?”

“Synthetic goose down, because Danny wouldn’t let me get the real stuff with a clear conscience.”

Stiles shrugs, “Good enough for me,” Once they’re repositioned under the warmth of the blanket, Stiles nudges Jackson with his nose, “Hey, I’m really glad you didn’t kick me out, Jackson.”

Jackson scoffs, “Don’t get too cocky, Stilinski, it’s not too late.”

“You wouldn’t,” Stiles pulls him closer.

“Probably not,” He hums, “At least not this time, can’t have everyone seeing how good you look in those khakis.”

Stiles smiles, “I’m glad you appreciate the effort. I am kinda jealous that apparently all your neighbors get to regularly see the sight of you in those ridiculously small running shorts.”

“Well I think the entire world has gotten an eyeful of me in shorts that are tighter and smaller than those.”

“True. You definitely look good in those, too,” Stiles moves so his head is resting on Jackson’s chest, “Seriously though, thanks for listening to me. And believing me.”

Jackson sighs and smiles, “Thanks for coming over.”

He can suffer through the inevitable interviews, unwelcome reporters, and Lydia tomorrow. Right now he’s completely exhausted, but their heartbeats are in sync and he feels like he’s won something more important than a stupid wrestling match.

**Author's Note:**

> You're always free to come hang out in [my trashcan](http://somnambulipstick.tumblr.com) with me :)


End file.
